The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Being an only child normally made Rachel’s family functions weird and rigid and cold, all on their own. A splintered family could make things even more awkward. This year, going home to celebrate her stepmother’s birthday was turning out to be a rather icy affair of glacial proportions.

Dad didn’t last more than ten minutes at the dinner table. When he asked his only daughter how school was going, she looked at him as if he was speaking some foreign language. Skuh-ooo...skuh...ooooool... Skuh-ooo... What did that word mean, again?

Oh, right. That place she hadn’t been to in weeks, because they didn’t let you masturbate or fuck people. So boring! Even wearing super-tight slutwear, to see girlfriends get jealous and professors get distracted, wasn’t really worth it in the end.

But Daddy spent a lot of money, and mom always wanted it for her, and blah blah blah, botany grant...Fuckin’... Bot-knee... The fuck I’m-a do with robots an’ aliens an’ shit, any-fuckin’—how! For real...

It would have been hilarious to announce that she was switching majors to Booty-ny, or something. But it was probably a better idea to just do her best to sound smart. So she took some big neon orange Sally Jessy style spectacles out of her electric purple, tiger-print handbag.

This better be shuttin’ him the fuck up! Wiping some chocolate stain off the nose bridge, she successfully moved her thick, slow tongue through those now shockingly fat, bright pink painted lips. Moving them even the tiniest bit caused the outrageous things to smack out a bratty and loud, superglue sticky sound.

She was acting like the teenager she had never been in high school, and wouldn’t have been allowed to be. Everything his daughter did with her altered mouth wound up looking like a wet slutty kiss. He shuddered, trying to imagine what she could possibly have been thinking at that moment. Was she... checking him out?

Her inner ditz-alogue: Chocolate jus’ so dang good. The sweet, indulgent taste made her forget what was going on, moreso when she remembered it was actually chocolate lube. It’d almost been a month since she did the nasty with Reggie’s boy and used it on his unexpectedly decent dick.

She closed her eyes and hugged herself tight, in udder-undulating, nip-hardening tribute to that big, awesomely awesome night. It gave her a clit-ticklish thrill to imagine how amazing and thick his cock had become, these weeks later.

BrownBoy was proven to work from the first squirt. She shivered, porky goosebumps only drawing more attention to her jugs. The left one nearly popped out. “I love cookin’ up some-uh momma’s hot chocolate dick,” she whispered, unprompted. Everyone heard it.

Her stepmom cleared her throat. Brendon, her dad’s wife’s kid, was sure he heard wrong. Still, he imagined his ears were working just fine when she uncapped a bottle of cocoa butter and slathered her fleshy thighs and fleshier décolletage with the goop. The sweet aroma ramped up his step-sister’s unexplainable, irresistible new presence.

She was surely the elephant-assed girl in the room, and she didn’t even know it. It was hard for her family to figure out what was more eerie and unusual: the changes in her physicality—too close to rendering her unrecognizable—or the decimation and reconstruction of a once-brilliant, studious mind.

That mind had all but disappeared, it seemed. Going “mmmmmm” really obnoxiously as she improperly lapped up the rest of the chocolate (accidentally pushing it up past her lips to give herself a choco-lube moustache), it was clear that she was trancing out. Certainly not present at this dinner table.

Rachel was now lodged, and quite comfortably, like bubblegum, in the softening clutches of her pleasure center. She pushed the lens-less novelty glasses up her nose, to seem “learned” or something. It only made her look play-geeky, like a dumb-ass slut trying to act intelligent but unable to mask her bimboized derision.

Then a big fat kissy face, extended way too long, killed whatever she’d been going for in the first place. “No wait!” she yelped, hit with an idea. “I have them other glasses. Them shits is straight bangin’!” Dad groaned. Why was he even entertaining this? Why was she acting and looking like this! I want my daughter! he stormed, confined to his own head.

A big, bright blue vinyl dong bobbed up and out of her open purse. The size of it knocked loose some gum and condoms. As if no one else was in the room with her, she checked the expiration date on the rubbers. Then she flung a bunch across the table.

After that, a trial-sized bottle of BrownBoy. She didn’t want to tell him what it was for, and got a little pulsing pussy-twinge upon envisioning how hot Brendon would look as a hot, athletic black boy. He’ll prolly use the stuff to jack off, but it gon’ be irresistible an’ junk. That prude bitch of his gon’ get her-self knocked up in no time!

“Here, Brendo-baby. You and—whassername, Jilly? Put it on yer—ya jimmy!” She giggled like she was a comedy genius. “Get it? Jimmy?” She popped a stick of gum into her plump, pleasure-ready mouth, only to remember she still had some dinner left.

She left out the part about how those condoms were actually a failsafe protection against contraception, and made the dude who wore them (and any cherub-to-be that should come in contact with one) so unendingly fertile, they could like make a baby just by flexing a bicep.

She remembered skuh-oo—school, stuck her gum underneath her step-mom’s expensive new table. The high school senior looked sheepish. “Actually, she’s uncomfortable with the idea of sex before—” Rachel held her hand to her boobs, flustered.

“Oh my fuckin’ Gawd! F’real? Dayum, baby. Maybe, like, she a dyke or some shit? Nah, I’m just play’n’... I mean, I bet yo ass got a pretty good dong. ’specially fo’ some hot juicy bareback, nahmsay’n’? Maybe I gotsta fuck’n’, like, I’unno, maybe call homegirl up, you know? Teach that bitch how a real nasty-ass ho sit on it all real nice an’—“

“Rachel!” her father yelled, losing his cool. His wife gave him a look of consternation and judgement. “Young girls experiment, honey. I’m sure she’s using protection. Aren’t you, dear?” The devil’s advocate routine was a wash. Rachel rolled her eyes and smacked her lips, letting her jaw drop.

Her tongue lolled on out, and her eyelids drooped sultrilydownward. She was luxuriating in saying and doing the wrong thing. Plus, being flirty with her li’l bro was kind of—no, it was definitely turning her on. “Not really!” She and Brendon laughed.

“I ain’t need these, not now. I’m a whole-hoggin’ ho, big boss beeyatch nah.” She flung some more rubbers his way. “Nuttin’ I luh mo’ n’tah feel a hot, hunky stud jus’ fuck’n’, like, coat all that shit way way up in my insi—“

“Rayy-chulll” Dad railed, veins flexing in his forehead, gripping onto a half-empty wine glass, clutching it so hard it looked on the brink of shattering in his fist. She pulled her big mass of curly, jet black hair and caught it in a scrunchie, patterned with crosses. “Deal wit it, Daddy. It’s natch-oo-rill an’ stuff.”

“Rachel, are you... putting some kind of product in your hair to make it more like the kind that a... a black—” She applied a dollop of cocoa butter on each of her ashen elbows, ignoring the question. Then she rubbed her food-distended belly, peeking out from under her stretched-to-the-limit.

It was a porky, round and sizable little pot belly, even before she started pigging out that evening. Her father struggled to make sense of the Rubik’s cube that was his daughter. Not even a semester away, and how many pounds did she put on, exactly? It looked like fifty or sixty, at least.

What was going on? All-star gymnast, skier and snowboarder. Fought like hell to maintain six-pack abs even though her first boyfriend loathed them. Went running every day, sometimes twice daily, when it called for it. It was... tough trying to picture that now. Extremely tough.

Her new body, or ungodly mutation, or whatever it was, seemed to be built—or was building itself around her—to make absolutely certain that the fastest she’d make use of her legs now would be to strut. The biggest workout, a molasses-like sashay. “You were such an excercise nut in high school, Ra—“

She smirked happily as she rubbed her pudgy middle, continuing to ignore her father. “I kinda sorta wanna start a family—a big one. With lots of little boys and little girls, and they can all feast on my titties, cuz that’s how come Jesus put ’em there and made ’em all nice an’ suckable. I wanna be, like… I wanna be a baby food factory, super-hot super-ho!“

She put on a pair of hot pink and lime green, mirror-tinted sunglasses, and pushed everything else in her bag down, a sliver of embarrassment now peeking its way out. A frilly, polka dot thong ruffled up around the sides of the bag. It wasn’t the thong that made her face red. It was dotted with a healthy smattering of jizz.

While the teensy underthing (that couldn’t possibly fit over her donk—could she have kept it as some sort of trophy?) was exposed, it filled the room with a pungent, palpable odor. Sweet, tangy, fruity, nutty sex. It ignited the dining room with a soupy spray of cloying and strong pheromones.

The massive and thick blue dildo stuck its towering heft out again—this time popping straight up and out, its motor turning on by itself. Rachel “covered” for herself by sticking it between her plush melons. For a moment, the rest of the family didn’t meet her careless, wanton actions with the same level of urgency as before.

She worked the vibrating up and down her tight wet cleavage, running a few long-nailed, patriotically manicured fingers along the sides (taking her time with the battery-powered throbbing veins trailing up and down the length), once she saw Brendon staring.

“Don’t worry, y’all, this my fugg’n’... magic marker…. highlighter-type shit.” Dad snorted, shifting in his seat. Luckily, Rachel was the only one that noticed his hands were beneath the table. For a few resonant seconds, he saw a magnetic and alluring fertility, just a few feet away from him.

He had the urge to pollinate, to desecrate, to...

Then, of course, he saw that it was his daughter. He was able to will a fresh hardon to stay put. Something supernatural was going on, that much was evident, and he wanted no part in it. The big blue fake dick hopped up and buzzed around in place, thrumming electrically.

“It help me wih’ my sweats,” Rachel added, nonsensically. Rachel, who could really only be identified by her eyes, and even those had darkened considerably. Remarkably enough, even her teeth had changed: getting bigger as they met with odd gaps and other irregularities.

Her dad had to squint to see the boutique logo on the side of one of the watermelon-hued bows on her sunglasses. He wished he hadn’t. Upon first inspection, he misread it as “Hello Kitty”, and was about to feel relieved... Sure, she was cheap now, but that didn’t have to mean she had to be slutty 24/7.

But no. Nope. His daughter proudly wore Halo Clitty sunglasses. He... didn’t want to know.

Was it maybe that boyfriend of hers? Reggie? He never exactly loved the guy before, but was it possible that he was getting her into some really sick shit this school year? It was as if what’d happened to her cousin on her mom’s side (Kristen, was it?)

He could hardly believe it or understand it, but the proof was in the pudding thighs that had grown all on his Rachel, like a sexually-transmitted Halloween costume that never could come off. Wasn’t this how it happened to that girl? Her tits got huge and her brain got tiny?

New Rachel’s bouncing bosoms were too nice not to look at. It was... biology. It helped him concentrate on... why he shouldn’t be staring at them, because something.

It was too hard to remember what had happened with her cousin, anyway. Even though he’d only heard of it through the family grapevine a few short months before, he did his best to block it out. And now his worst fears had come to roost. “How’s that research money coming along? You get funded yet?”

Deep bewilderment and despair crashed across his face in a wave, as he saw the big new ghetto version of his daughter draw a blank. “Whuh-huh?” his daughter muttered, munching, forgetting she had to feign interest.

“You and your team moving forward?” he goaded, losing patience. Rachel looked as if she was mentally counting all the syllables.

“Oh!” she smacked around a big bite of bratwurst too big for her face. “Like, y’know, baby. Like, pretty shitty and shit. Whatever—I ain’t bothered none, nahmean? I’m talkin’ f’sho-f’sho. But they’s always, like, a ton of hot guys, y’know? So whateva.” She grinned, a trail of butter cascading and glistening down her chin.

“Keeps my pussy real happy!” With that, her father crumpled his napkin in blind desperation, before crumpling himself. He got up and left the dinner table without saying a word. Rachel didn’t miss a beat and reached over to claim the rest of her dad’s buttery biscuit.

“Salt an’ fat, like... this here shit’s a girl’s best fuck’n’ friend, y’feel me?” Her stepmom smiled warmly, and chose to ignore all of her daughter’s barely-there accoutrements. Mostly because she refused to admit to herself that they were making her really turned on.

Rachel knew how to present. The threadbare wifebeater her giant knockers wore. The bra they forgot. Those bovine, ready-to-feed nipples. The hoop rings dangling off the tips of both. The milk that dribbled through the tired old cotton, even with her tits pierced.

“You look really nice this evening,” “Mom” politicized. It was only Friday and her family, however fractured, would have to get along for the remainder of the weekend. They’d make it to Sunday, even with Rachel’s asscrack and cleavage hogging all the attention.

She wondered aloud if Rachel had OD’ed on tanning booths. It was a baldly impolite way of cutting to the chase. “Naw, momma,” she sang sweetly, earnest, missing the point. She laughed, boisterous and hearty. “Jeez. You stuuuuupid, yo.“

She snickered, mercifully tapering her amusement after blatantly laughing in her stepmom’s face. “Sheeit—you funny, ma.” There wasn’t any room left for tact when she was equipped with so much tit. “No way in Britty’s holy heck! I finally showin’ my ethnicity, honey. My roots is showin’.“

“You know,” her half-brother chimed in, trying not to address her unfathomable black jugs the whole time, swerving to and fro as they were, like mocha-colored, custard-filled water balloons. “So, my girlfriend—you know—Janine?” Rachel shrugged. “Well, she gave me some outgrown clothes, thinking maybe you’d—“

Her step-mother looked as if she was addressing someone else entirely. Surely her son could plainly see that she was an entirely different size now, and outgrowing even that. Or was he really that horny?!

“Yeah, no. Brendon—honey—I’m sure that nowadays with your sister’s... growth spurt...s, Rachel’s a little too...” She searched for the right word. Maybe womanly? ...Stout? “Listen, Rachel. Why don’t you give your friend Lana a call? I saw her mother at the grocery store the other day, and...”

Rachel was idly staring at Brendon, who was curious about the bottle of BrownBoy, dabbing a little of it on his index finger for a taste. Now his hands snaked under the table! His mom droned on. “...now don’t you think that would be nice?” The still-transforming, wayward grad student huffed.

She wanted to say, “I ain’t even remember how big bitch’s tits is, an’ I bet homegirl ass flat too. I only fucks wit’ dagood Christian-American womens.” Instead, she gave a noncommital “maybe” and got up to retreat elsewhere, anywhere. She was starting to feel a bit guilty that she was so sexy.

Her dad’s wife got up to clean his and her plates. As a partial door to the kitchen swung open, then shut behind her, Rachel unbuttoned her straining, brick red denim cutoffs, fished out a deep, deep wedgie, then wiggled her big ass to an acceptable comfort level.

It made her fart. A long, lazy and only partially ladylike puff, extending into something more crass. She was so play-ashamed that it made her hiccup and belch. New Rachel was a real pig.

“Oooops!” she drawled, long and breathy and stupid. Like ripping ass was as cute as Marilyn Monroe singing the birthday song. She burped again. “My baaaad... Kay, baby, I guess, like, I’m-a try’n’ find sutt’n t’do an’ shit, m’kay? You betta tell yo momma she done cooked us up some real good food, aight?“

Brendon noddded, but couldn’t wrap his head around it. The clothes especially. Everything she wore was chosen so she could better advertise her reproductive charms. But what made her grow all over, and why did her ultra-fertile new additions seem to be controlling her very mind and soul?

Puberty might sort of explain it, but his step-sister was about to turn 24 in just a few short months. It was way too late for that. And then there was the turning into a full-bred black chick thing... Now, that might never make any sense.

The tectonic, curve-quaking force of her satiated and silly laughter knocked something free from the angry, fatty jostle of her jugs. An edible morsel. It was a baby corn, and it fell onto the rug. “Five second rule an’ whatnot!” she beamed, overjoyed.

Then it happened. Bending over to pop one last unneeded bit of grub into her greedy face, and undeterred by the pre-emptive loosening of her waistband, the tight stonewashed shorts split, right down the crack. She laughed it off. “I guess I’m-a be a size sixteen now! …Shoot — whatever, right?“

Brendon gulped, unsure how to respond. His girlfriend was a size four... Don’t think about her this way! She’s your sister, kinda... in a way... He took a quick pic of her big black ass in a skimpy, shimmering gold thong. Or more like... a picture of her big black ass as it swallowed the thong whole.

She looked back at him, catching him in the act. “Don’t worry, Brendo-honey. This jus’ boun’ to happen to dat skinny li’l twig of a girlfrien’ y’got. Jus’ enjoy that there ass shot until she grow her own up real good like mines is.“

He went to the guest room where he was staying, to sleep off all this hot-but-disturbing strangeness gumming up his soul. Instead, he tossed and turned and seethed and humped his bed. He went online to share the photo he took, with people who knew Rachel.

None of them believed it was her. He couldn’t exactly blame them. They just assumed he grabbed an image of some random rap video girl on a Tumblr, that he was playing a practical joke. He vowed to get some video footage before the weekend was over.

9:21 P.M.

Rachel knocked on Brendon’s door, as quietly as possible. Her dad and his mom were sleeping in the next room. Reggie was home for the holidays too, just a few towns over. He’d promised to call so they could get together and hang out, once he and his family were done eating dinner.

She was looking forward to hanging out with him, asking him how the fam was, maybe snuggling a bit in front of some crappy rom-com—definitely boning a whole bunch. It was beginning to get ridiculous! She hadn’t been given the pleasure of a cock shooting cum on or in her for more than seven hours!

Accelerated hormones made his absence feel more like seven months. By her libido-led estimation, he should have called, or at least texted, almost three hours before. She was starting to get worried. Did something happen to his dick?! The very thought made her stomach churn.

She painted her nails, had some fun with her vibrator, then painted her toenails, then had some more fun with two vibrators. The concerned feeling she felt only started to turn into a kind of agitated and antsy kind of worried-horny. She was about to explode and cry all at once.

She was all drippy. She was too drippy. Lonely and leaking at such an alarming rate, gooing and dribbling right through each and every pair of panties she’d packed, she braved the trip to Brendon’s room bottomless. Pussy juice was streaming, borderline gushing, all down her thighs and legs, giving every mincing step an icy-hot chill.

While it had appeased the mating call of her hornies somewhat, cumming on her own without a proper man around made her titties all tender and milky. Tying her thin, tight tank underneath them, she steeled her softening self and knocked was quietly as she could on Brendon’s door.

Soaked up top, soaked down below, her brain was soaking in an awful, confused feeling of girlish helplessness. This was how her half-brother found her. Panting and bug-eyed, sweat trickling down her coffee-colored face, she looked feverish and desperate.

“You said that your girlfriend’s my size?” Rachel asked, even though they both knew the answer quite well. She was incapable of not drooling. “Hey, can you tell ti—um, what the tiiiime is?” She could smell the first inklings of Brendon’s budding hardon.

He didn’t realize that he left up the picture he took of her butt onscreen. I’m every horny little white boy’s dream, Rachel thought as she led her stepbrother by his cock, to his bed. “Shit, I kinda wanna blow you right quick, but you can fuck my ass if you want, too.” He didn’t show sign one of any protest.